


it would have us cast away that anchor

by d0nquix0te



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Darkness, F/M, Gen, Nightmares, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0nquix0te/pseuds/d0nquix0te
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles raises the knife to Lydia's throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it would have us cast away that anchor

Stiles can feel Lydia’s bubble gum lip gloss, slick and warm under the palm of his hand. It makes him want to pull away and wipe it off on his shirt, anything to get the sticky feeling out of his skin. It doesn’t feel right. 

Lydia squirms and it makes it feel even worse, now smeared all across his sweaty hand, but if he moves she’ll scream. She’ll scream and it’ll be a horrible, piercing sound that the pack can all hear from so far away. He has to make sure she doesn’t scream, it might wake him up and this isn’t something he would be able to accomplish while conscious. 

He pulls Lydia close so her back is flush against his chest, trying to hold her still in his encircling arms. She scratches at him, long nails digging in. 

Taking a slow breath, he assures himself that he can do this. It’s just the two of them in Stiles’ bedroom and his dad won’t be home until late. He has time to do this right. Quickly, he unwraps one of his arms from around Lydia’s waist and reaches for the knife he keeps between his mattresses. He’s never had to use it before, no matter how terrified he is of something coming for him in the night, and the handle feels foreign in his hand. 

Just as quickly, he brings his arm back around Lydia before she has the opportunity to break free and he poises the blade across her throat. There’s still a mark there, from where she was nearly strangled to death. The darkness in him buzzes at the irony of it, urging him to complete the darach’s initial attempt. 

Lydia yells behind his palm but it comes out muffled and garbled, not strong enough, too dampened. Tears drip down her face until they gather on Stiles’ fingers, rolling into the small spaces between them. 

“I’m so sorry, Lydia, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he mumbles into her strawberry blond hair, “I have to.”

She shakes against him and tears start to fall down his own cheeks as he tightens his hold on the knife and presses it into her skin. Lydia grips his wrist and pulls but he’s still stronger than her, driven by supernatural compulsion and desperation. The hard part is almost done, if he can just bring himself to dig deeper…

Stiles wakes with a start, breathing fast and stuttered. His arms tighten around Lydia where she’s lying beside him, but then he recalls their position in his nightmare and forces himself to pull away even though he needs the comfort of her close. He wants to feel her heartbeat against his chest and he wants to smell the scent of her lilac shampoo but he can’t let himself.

Stumbling out of the bed, he nearly trips on the covers as his leg gets caught in the soft sheets. Lydia’s bed is so much nicer than his own, big enough for two, and he’s had such trouble sleeping lately that he’s been indulging in it. He’d have to be crazy to turn down Lydia Martin offering cuddles, platonic or not. 

He is crazy, though, he knows he is. 

Lydia gave him permission to use the shower if he needs it, since he’s been sleeping at her house even on school nights. She’s been patient with him and morning routines aren’t as bad as he would have thought with the two of them trying to get ready at the same time. She insists it’s because he makes actual breakfast for them and her mother, something they usually can’t be bothered to do in between preparing for the day. 

Stiles pads into the bathroom and turns the shower water onto cold, eyes going out of focus as he climbs in and shivers under the spray. He still feels shell-shocked but the cold at least simulates the feeling of being awake. 

He has a lot of nightmares, even when he isn’t asleep sometimes, but the ones with Lydia in them are always the worst. They’re always the clearest, the ones he can remember right down to the smallest detail. The emotions linger so strong that he feels like the same person that he was in the dream, capable of hurting her. 

Leaning against the side of the shower stall, Stiles claws his trembling fingers over his arm and scratches, feeling Lydia’s nails in the place of his own. The water stings, rolls down his skin like Lydia’s tears did. 

Stiles curses under his breath and pulls his hand away, shaking the memories from his head. He’s awake, he’s fine. 

There’s a knock at the door.

“Stiles?”

“Uh, hey,” Stiles calls back, sticking his head out from behind the shower curtain. “You okay?”

“’Course I am. Did you have a nightmare?”

Stiles abruptly turns the water off and steps out of the shower, pulling a towel around himself. Shivering still, he steps closer to the door, leaning a shoulder against the wood. “Yeah,” he says, quieter.

“Want to come out and talk about it?” Lydia’s voice sounds far away from the other side of the door, light and unreal.

“I, uh, no, I’m good. Just going to stay here for a bit.”

“Okay. I’ll go back to bed, then.”

Stiles listens closely, holding his breath, and waits. After a moment, Lydia does step away from the door and then he can’t hear her anymore. He slumps against the door and dries himself off properly with his towel, rubbing it over his hair. When he’s done, he gets dressed again but he still doesn’t want to leave the bathroom. He doesn’t want to sleep again and he doesn’t want to put Lydia at risk. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes before Lydia knocks on the door again. “Stiles, I can hear you muttering. Can you just come to bed so we can talk?”

Stiles hadn’t realized he was speaking. “What was I saying?” His voice cracks and the question comes out sounding broken.

“You were apologizing to me,” Lydia answers. 

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Stiles groans and then reaches out to open the door. Lydia stands with her arms crossed on the other side of it, hair slightly tousled but still looking unfairly good. “Sorry,” he offers lamely. “Apparently I can ramble without even meaning to, now. I’ve reached a whole new level of annoying.”

“Come on.” Lydia turns on her heel and climbs back into bed, leaving no room for discussion or argument. 

Stiles follows. When they get back in bed, though, he carefully keeps to his side of the mattress and wraps his arms around himself before he can instinctively reach for her. 

“Oh for goodness sake,” Lydia complains. “Tell me about the nightmare.”

“You don’t want to know.”

Lydia leans over him, a scary glint in her eyes. “Stilinski, please. I do not ask questions if I’m not prepared for the answer. You know that. Now out with it.”

Stiles grimaces up at her. “Fine, I was trying to kill you, alright?”

Lydia’s expression doesn’t change, she just hovers darkly above him and waits. 

“That’s all there was to it, stop looking at me like that.”

“Why would you try to kill me, though?”

“Not all nightmares make sense, Lydia.”

“Darkness nightmares do, Stiles,” she snarks back.

“Ugh, I don’t know. I remember saying that I had to do it. I didn’t want to but I had to. The darkness wanted me to.”

Looking satisfied, Lydia sits back against her pillows and loosely curls a hand around Stiles’ bicep. He glances at her wearily and shifts around until her hand tightens as if to tell him to sit still. “That makes sense, then. You should have just said so.”

Stiles gapes at her. “What kind of sense does that make?”

“The darkness wants me gone because I’m your anchor. Obviously.”

As soon as she spells it out, Stiles realizes she’s right. “Oh my god,” he whispers, thinking back to how he wanted to cut her throat over the old scar. He takes in a shaky breath, seeing the whole nightmare with a new perspective. “That’s messed up, oh my god. How can you just say that as if it’s nothing?”

Lydia shrugs. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

Stiles pulls his arm out of her grip and nearly leaps out of the bed before she gets a hold of him again. “The problem is I’m going to accidentally kill you!” he protests, though he makes minimal effort to get away again.

“Stiles.” Lydia’s voice has taken a softer tone, switching gears from forceful and firm to gentle and reassuring. “Stiles, relax.”

And he does. He lets her reel him back in with soft hands and quiet words because she’s _Lydia_ and she grounds him. 

“See?” she says. “Stay with me, stay relaxed, and you’ll be fine. If you let it scare you away from me, that’s when we would start having problems.”

“Right. Right, that makes sense,” Stiles says with a nod. He can still feel the panic under his skin but it feels like it’s receding rather than building. He slides down in the bed and pulls the covers up over them. Lydia puts her arm around his waist and he exhales slowly, thankful for the closeness that doesn’t make him feel like he’s trapping her. 

“We still have a couple hours before we need to get up for school. Try to get some more sleep,” Lydia tells him, breath warm against his shoulder. 

Stiles doesn’t get any more sleep, but he’s grown used to functioning on less. Sleep or no sleep, his mind feels clearer than it has in a few days.


End file.
